


Tides

by CherryK



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bard doesn't know either, M/M, Pre-Battle of Five Armies, Thranduil doesn't know how to deal with feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard follows Thranduil's summons. Neither realizes that their actions will have consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tides

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should have put more work into this, but I needed to get this out. The reason why it doesn't make much sense is probably because it centers on Bard's feelings a lot and only regards the mess that is Thranduil from the outside. Poor guy needs a hug after all the shit he's gone through. He might get that, in case I ever find the motivation to put another chapter to this out there.

The piece of parchment has long been crumpled by Bard’s grip. He is walking along a narrow path leading up to Dale’s old defensive walls, which rise protectively above the city – not taking a walk, but complying with king Thranduil’s surprising request to meet him there precisely five hours after nightfall. The bowman’s reaction to an impassive elven messenger showing up at his doorstep with the ominous note was scepticism, but who is he to deny a king’s summons? _This_ king’s summons in particular.

Finally, stepping onto the wall’s withered stone, Bard is greeted with a breathtaking view of mount Erebor, looming menacingly just across the vale. A full moon hangs high in the skies above its peak and casts the scenery in a faint glow. Near a gap in the parapet, a remainder of past battles, stands the elven king and looks out into the distance. Long, silver hair reflects the moonlight and creates an otherworldly impression that takes Bard’s breath away.

„You have come.“, the elf states matter-of-factly. It takes Bard a moment to find his voice again.

„...Aye, I have.“ Perhaps it is unwise to speak so bluntly, but Bard can‘t help but wonder. „What have you summoned me for, milord? This can hardly be of political nature, can it?“

He receives no answer as Thranduil turns his gaze to the moon. Bard dares not break the silence. A mercilessly cold gust of wind sends a chill through him and he draws his battered coat tighter around himself. Yet, the elven king appears unfazed.

„It is not.“ Thranduil finally turns to face him, fair features half-hidden in the shadows of night. „Come, join me, Dragonslayer.“

It sounds more like an invitation than an order. Bard steps forward to stand next to the elf and for a moment the only sound is the wind.

„You do not seem to have many friends. Despite all that you have done for your people.“

The bowman huffs, then gives a curt laugh at the strange situation he finds himself in. A casual conversation with king Thranduil on Dale’s walls in the dead of night. „It’s funny, really. I don’t mean to gloat but... you’d at least expect them to be a tad bit grateful.“ It is Alfrid’s influence that still makes the people of Laketown give him strange looks. Well, yes, he has effectively slewn a dragon, which is more than enough reason to be stared at, but usually one doesn‘t regard the killer of a dragon with such hostility. Alfrid uses their fresh wounds, caused by the loss of an old home, as his bait and Bard, who has led them from the ruins, has yet to win their trust.

His expression must have turned bitter, for Thranduil examines him with his countenance so intense that it seems to Bard as though his very soul is being looked into. He can‘t tear his eyes away. An inexplicable tension flows between them, lingers even well after the elf breaks eye contact. It floods like a current in a storm, pulling him under until he feels dizzy with the lack of oxygen.

„Loneliness is malignant and vile.“ Thranduil’s voice is barely audible, but as the night air carries his words to Bard’s ear his heart aches at the unmistakable sadness they are laced with. He has not known loneliness, not until these days, and yet the other’s misery weighs down more heavily on him than his own. At a loss for words, all he can do is nod his agreement.

Bard does feel compelled to say something, though, to do away with the uncomfortable silence that follows. He glances at Thranduil from the side, wishing to replace the dullness in his eyes with something else, something warmer. Tentatively he tries.

„That may be true but... being lonely does not always mean you’re alone.“ He searches the elven king’s gaze then and the current overflows. Its waves hold compassion, strong enough to make Thranduil’s walls crack. He looks eerily beautiful in the moonlight, expression torn between a century-old pain and newfound hope. Bard is mesmerized. The walls finally cave in and pale hands cup the man’s face before his lips are captured in a tender kiss.

He is drowning again, but this time he breathes the water. The tension dissolves as soon as he closes his eyes, giving in to the slow movement of Thranduil’s lips on his own with a soft sigh.     His heart is racing, his mind swimming with unanswered questions, but he has not felt so needed, so _wanted_ in a long time. Thranduil’s hand slides downward, curling against Bard’s thundering heartbeat. A whimper escapes him and, feeling light-headed, he slides his tongue across the elf’s bottom lip.

Thranduil shudders and suddenly pulls back.

Bard forces himself to open his eyes, still dazed by the onslaught of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. Thranduil seems to want to say something but decides against it, instead regarding Bard with sad eyes once more. He rebuilds his walls before the man even has a chance to register what has happened. Ever so lightly he inclines his head towards him, silver mane framing his face, and turns to leave. Slowly the pieces click into place again.

„...Wait, please!“

But only the night answers him; he is left in darkness, a gaping hole in his chest.


End file.
